


Of Whispers and Dreams

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-26 16:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10790184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ron & Hermione deal with the aftermath of war. Originally written for LJ's RW/HG Last Drabble Writer Standing   Competition, Round 3 Challenge 3 Prompt of "Protector"





	Of Whispers and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

I wake up with a start, gasping as if searching for my last breath. I lie there breathing with the remnants of my dream still swimming in my head. In my confusion, I reach out for Ron but all I find is an empty bed. His absence brings me from a dreamy haze to full alert. I sit up and look around the room, needing his presence to soothe my soul. I find him standing at the window gazing out into the cloudless night; he is still and tense, as if waiting for a nameless danger to disturb the peaceful silence. 

The dreams plague him, too. The dreams always occur on this solemn anniversary our world celebrates, but we are left with nightmares of growing up far too fast and fighting a madman.   
  
"Ron," I whisper. 

He turns at the sound of my voice, his eyes betraying dark thoughts. 

I reach out to him, wanting to protect his sensitive heart. 

He doesn't move, just looks into my eyes. 

I don't have to ask; he has dreamed of Fred, of dust and flames. I know this dream - I dream it, too.   
  
"Ron," I whisper again, a single tear escaping from my eye. My heart is broken for him, for me, for all of us. I climb to my knees and hold out my hands, beckoning him towards me. I want him in my arms, in my heart, where I can hold him and protect him from his fears and allow him, for just one moment, to be truly vulnerable. He has done the same for me many times, but now, now it's my turn.   
  
"Ron," I whisper once more, my voice cracking just a little. 

This seems to affect him and he slowly moves toward me. As he meets the bed, eyes glistening with tears waiting to be shed, he reaches for my hand and clasps it to his. He sits on the bed, softly molding his body to mine.  
  
We cling to each other, arms wrapped around the other, for support, for protection, for love.   



End file.
